


All I Want for Christmas

by MsBrightsideSH



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Secret Saito
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 13:25:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8892424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBrightsideSH/pseuds/MsBrightsideSH
Summary: “You Brits spend Christmas in your sleepwear all day, right? I considered bringing antlers, but it seemed too much.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Avacyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Avacyn/gifts).



> This is my Secret Saito gift for avacyn!  
> Her prompt was 'Fluff', and I hope I hit the spot :)  
> Happy Holidays to all of you lovely Inception people!
> 
> Thanks so much to Kate_the_reader, who is the most wonderful beta in all the lands <3

Snow flits by the window, illuminated on and off by street lights. Eames leans back in his seat and smiles.

“You know, I really didn't think we'd pull this one off.”

Arthur snorts. “We almost didn't,” he says, his eyes on the road, but Eames knows him well enough to know that he's pleased as well. It was a hard job and it took much longer than it should have, but they made it. They're on the way to the airport now, in a car that Arthur produced from thin air -- nothing unusual there. Eames sighs a little. He's going to miss working with Arthur. Apart from, well, the obvious reasons,  it's nice to have everything taken care of, for a change. There aren't a whole lot of people Eames trusts, but Arthur has certainly made top of the list, and way before they even got together. Also, he's the only person Eames can rely on to always drive after a job. Usually,  it would be the polite thing to take turns, since everyone is worn out and coming off an adrenaline high more often than not. Arthur, of course, is too wired after a job to sit in the passenger seat. 

 

Eames was kind of hoping they’d stop somewhere for some proper goodbyes (possibly naked goodbyes, or as naked as the temperatures allow).

Arthur had been quite adamant the others take another car, after all. 

Stopping doesn't seem to be the plan though, so Eames settles for watching Arthur drive, his dark hair coming a little loose, his shirt sleeves rolled up.

Thinking that he won't see Arthur for months after this hurts, though, and he looks away again, just watches the snowflakes drift by. Eventually, he falls asleep.

 

He jerks awake when the car stops. 

“Are we there?” he mumbles, disoriented for a second or two.

“Yes,” Arthur says, but his voice sounds strange and when Eames looks outside, he can't see any lights. 

“Where are we?”

“Well,” Arthur says, “not at the airport.” He sounds unsure of himself, a little uncomfortable even, and Eames is properly awake immediately. He doesn’t like Arthur sounding like that one bit. “Were we chased, did you have to go a different way, Jesus, Arthur, why didn’t you wake me--” 

Arthur cuts him off by holding up a hand. “Eames, calm down, there’s nothing wrong.”

“Then why aren’t we at the airport?”

“Because I thought that this might be … nicer.” 

Eames’s eyes follow Arthur’s hand pointing into the darkness. He squints for a few seconds, but can only make out the vague shape of trees.

“Sorry, darling, but I can see bugger-all.”

Arthur sighs exasperatedly, sounding much more like himself, and takes Eames by the hand.

They walk a short distance and bit by bit, Eames can make out a cabin among the snowy trees.

He turns to Arthur, eyebrows raised, but Arthur just blushes a little and nudges him forward.

 

Inside is dark,  and almost as cold as outside. Eames shivers.

Arthur immediately busies himself with the fireplace. A fireplace, really, where are they?

“This is one of my safe houses,” Arthur says from the floor, as if he read Eames’s mind. “I don't come here often, but it's really been handy from time to time.”

He's still busy with matches and paper.

Eames swallows. Arthur's safe houses are … kind of a big deal, actually. 

Eames doesn't even know half of them, he guesses. It's stopped bugging him, he knows it's not because Arthur doesn't trust him. It's just a safety precaution. You never know into whose hands you might fall in their business, after all.

 

Not too long and Arthur has the fire cackling. The inside of the cottage is … modest. There's a tiny kitchen and a door that must lead to a bathroom. In the far corner, there's a bed, quite big and soft looking. Eames can feel the exhaustion that usually hits him after a job seep back into his bones. 

“So, we're staying here for now?”

Arthur nods. “For the next few days.”

He sounds like he wants to add something like ‘if you're ok with it’ and Eames is glad that he doesn't. It's unlike Arthur to second guess a plan in this way. Eames will think about that tomorrow, he decides. “Did you bring my bag inside?” he asks, embarrassed that he didn't think to grab it himself.

Arthur nods over to the corner by the door. Eames opens his bag … and finds pyjamas. He can't properly see them in the dim light,  but he's sure he didn't bring them. Oh well. He's too tired to think straight, clearly. He goes into the bathroom, which, miracle upon miracle, has running water, and then heads straight for the bed. He’s asleep before Arthur joins him.

 

Eames wakes up to an empty bed and a truly enticing smell. He blinks his eyes open and sees Arthur standing at the stove, stirring something in a small pot. “What's smelling so good?”

Arthur turns around and smiles at him.

“It's um, it's hot chocolate.”

He turns around before Eames can say anything and pours the hot drink into two mugs, then he comes over to the bed. Eames accepts the offered mug and  takes a careful sip.

“It's good,” he says. 

“No need to sound so surprised.” Arthur looks at him sternly, then laughs. “I did burn the milk twice before you woke up though.”

Eames grins. 

“If you want anything else for breakfast, you'll have to cook it, I’m afraid.”

“That's alright darling, why don't you come here so I can thank you properly?”

Eames places his mug on the floor and moves to unbutton Arthur’s pyjama top.

Wait a second. “Arthur, what the hell are you wearing?”

“Same as you,” Arthur replies with a cheeky grin.

Eames looks down at himself and sees that the pyjamas he found in his bag yesterday are red with white reindeers. Arthur’s are blue.

“You Brits spend Christmas in your sleepwear all day, right? I considered bringing antlers, but it seemed too much.”

Eames can't do anything but gape. 

“Later, we can go and get a tree if you like, there are firs right behind the cabin--”

“Arthur,” Eames interrupts him, “Please don't take this the wrong way, but  _ why _ ?”

The tips of Arthur’s ears grow red.

“It's Christmas,” he says.

“I know that,” Eames agrees. “But … you don't even celebrate Hanukkah. You certainly don't care about Christmas.”

Arthur shrugs, and he smiles that smile that Eames can never resist.

“But you do.”


End file.
